


blunt not the heart

by Kealpos



Series: Author's Favorites [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, F/F, Gen, Metafiction, Missing Scene, References to Shakespeare, Screenplay/Script Format, especially when theyre arguably The Worst Format for a chara study, only a lil bit tho this is first and foremost canon compliant, why do i keep writing character studies in script format...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kealpos/pseuds/Kealpos
Summary: Characters:MELANIE KING, Archival Assistant, ex-co-runner of Ghost Hunt UK, Avatar of The Slaughter, thane of Cambridge, thane of London, King hereafter, Macbeth.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Helen | The Distortion & Melanie King, Martin Blackwood & Melanie King, Melanie King & Basira Hussain, Melanie King & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King & The Slaughter
Series: Author's Favorites [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033281
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	blunt not the heart

**Author's Note:**

> "Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief  
> Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it." -Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 3

[CLICK]  
[CRUNCHING OF LEAVES; A FIRE CRACKLING; THUNDER]

MELANIE (warning):  
Speak, if you can: what are you?

MARTIN:  
All hail, Melanie! hail to thee, thane of Cambridge!

BASIRA:  
All hail, Melanie! hail to thee, thane of London!

[THERE IS A GREAT, RUMBLING, RISING STATIC. A GASP, AND MORE CRUNCHING OF LEAVES, AS IF SOMEONE IS STEPPING BACKWARDS - OR FORWARDS, FOR THAT MATTER. WE CAN’T TELL IF THEY ARE STEPPING CLOSER OR MOVING FARTHER AWAY]

THE ARCHIVIST:  
All hail, Melanie, thou shalt be king hereafter!

[CLICK]

*

[ACT ONE]

SETTING: The ASSISTANTS’ BULLPEN. There are three traditional desks, their wood firm and professional. Propped up in a corner is a green folding table, the kind you’d expect to play shitty poker on. On each desk - and the folding table, which we will henceforth group in with the desks - are various knickknacks. Some have less than others. Some “knickknacks” are actually just books or papers. It looks like the contents of one of the desks have been strewn to the ground, with papers and pens and books and pictures and little broken figurine ghosts littering the cement flooring. 

AT RISE: There is sobbing. MELANIE KING is huddled underneath one of the desks as if hiding out from the thing that threw all of her possessions onto the floor. She is sobbing into her hands. She threw all of her possessions onto the floor. She is hiding from herself.

MELANIE (through sobs):  
Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, my god.

There is nothing but her sobbing and quiet words for an uncomfortably long time. Then, the door at the top of the stairs creaks open. There is the sound of heavy footsteps. MELANIE raises her head, still sobbing, like a rabbit; quickly, curiously, fearfully.

MARTIN (tentatively):  
It’s me. Melanie, are you down here? Melanie?

MARTIN BLACKWOOD comes down the steps into THE ARCHIVES. He looks tired, his eyes are rim-red. MELANIE tries to slow her breathing, quiet herself, calm her sounds, stop her crying, but she can’t seem to make quick work of it. MARTIN visibly notices, and steps carefully, pausing when he gets to the scene in front of the desks.

MARTIN:  
C’mon, Melanie. We have to go home. They’re asking employees to clear out. It’s time to go home.

MARTIN comes over to the desk MELANIE huddles under, and crouches next to it, careful not to touch broken glass with his bare hands. MELANIE begins to sob again.

MELANIE (angry, and terrified, and devastated all at once):  
Don’t you… Don’t you even touch me.

MARTIN stares at her for a second, casts his gaze around at the destroyed bullpen, and then sighs. There is a loaded pause, and then he sighs again, deeper this time.

MARTIN:  
Okay, Melanie. I’m staying, though.

MELANIE (grasping at her rapidly decling composure):  
You’re doing… remarkably well. Thought you’d be more broken up about this.

MARTIN laughs mirthlessly and pushes debris out of the way, clearing a spot for him to sit down. He slumps against the desk MELANIE is sitting under, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes. She continues to compose herself as he speaks.

MARTIN:  
Oh, come on. You saw me back there in the shop, right? Just because I’m not having a meltdown right now doesn’t mean I’m not…

He pauses. MELANIE coughs out a lump in her throat and she too slumps against the desk, pressing her head against a corner of the interior. 

MARTIN (quiet and placating, as if attempting to coax a strange outdoor cat into sniffing his hand):  
I mean. I think… I’m just a little bit in shock, right now. Tim’s got his mum and dad helping with the processions and stuff, so ‘m not expected to do much. Jon doesn’t- didn’t-

MARTIN pauses, going over the two variations on the word in his head. MELANIE watches him with a red-rimmed, half-hearted glare, more curious about which one he’ll choose than focused on than being angry for JON and TIM being brought up at all. Finally, MARTIN settles on:

MARTIN:  
Jon _doesn’t_ have much in the way of family. He told us ages ago his parents hadn’t been around since he was a kid, and he mentioned a dead grandmother who raised him, once or twice. So, what with… that fucker’s intervention with medical officials, I suppose Jon’s in the hospital. In a coma. With his ex-girlfriend as his emergency contact.

MARTIN laughs. MELANIE doesn’t, instead sniffling and scrubbing at her face. MARTIN quiets down, sober and somber.

MARTIN (quiet):  
Our lives are stupid.

The two sit in exhausted, devastated silence for a little bit. MARTIN tucks his face into his knees and places his hands on the back of his head, breathing in low and evenly, in-out-in-out. MELANIE stays slumped against the inside of the desk, and eventually closes her eyes, wrapping her arms around her body.

MELANIE (quiet, tired, and mostly to herself):  
I really thought it was getting rid of everything. The pain, the happiness, the sadness, the fear. I guess everything’s sort of… tinted red, but I- I mean, I wondered if the plan wouldn’t work. If they’d be coming home in body bags, or if I’d end up with that image that _motherfucker_ threatened me with burned on the back of my eyelids. I didn’t think it’d feel like this. I thought I’d just be angrier. Well, I mean, I guess I _am,_ but…

MARTIN brings his face back up and stares at her slightly belligerently. Feeling eyes on her, MELANIE cracks one eye open to stare at him back.

MARTIN:  
What are you on about?

MELANIE pauses, opening her mouth to respond. She thinks better of it, and closes both her mouth and eye, shaking her head slightly to rid herself of her thoughts.

MELANIE (tired):  
Forget about it, Blackwood.

MARTIN groans quietly, and then presses his face back into his knees.

MARTIN (muffled slightly):  
Remember, they want all employees out of the building soon, so we can’t stay for too long.

END OF ACT ONE

*

[CLICK]

MELANIE (hushed, dangerously fearful, dangerous because what you have to fear will rip your vocal cords from your throat without another thought and it can smell fear):  
Methought I heard a voice cry “Sleep no more!  
Melanie does murder sleep”—the innocent sleep,  
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,  
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,  
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,  
Chief nourisher in life's feast.

THE SLAUGHTER (hushed as well, but indifferent and frustrated):  
What do you mean?

MELANIE (trying to keep from getting hysterical):  
Still it cried “Sleep no more!” to all the house:  
“Cambridge hath murder'd sleep, and therefore London  
Shall sleep no more; Melanie shall sleep no more.”

[ANNOYED GROAN. THE SOUND OF A KNIFE UNSHEATHING]

THE SLAUGHTER (pointedly dangerous and slightly mocking):  
Who was it that thus cried? Why, worthy thane,  
You do unbend your noble strength, to think  
So brainsickly of things. Go get some water,  
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.  
Why did you bring these daggers from the place?  
They must lie there: go carry them; and smear  
The sleepy grooms with blood.

MELANIE (attempting to sound threatening back, mostly coming out as a wet, skittish sort of guilty):  
I'll go no more:  
I am afraid to think what I have done;  
Look on't again I dare not.

[THE SLAUGHTER HISSES, DISPLEASED, AND MELANIE CRIES OUT AS IF SHE'S BEEN STRUCK. SHE GROANS, AND SLUMPS AGAINST A METAL WALL WITH A LOUD THUNK]

THE SLAUGHTER (angry):  
Infirm of purpose!

[THE SLAUGHTER SNORTS IN DERISION, AND MELANIE GROANS AGAIN, WEAKLY THIS TIME]

THE SLAUGHTER:  
Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead  
Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood  
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,  
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;  
For it must seem their guilt.

[THE SOUND OF SOMEONE EXITING THE ENVIRONMENT THE TWO WERE IN. MELANIE SIGHS, HEAVY, AND THEN SNIFFLES, ON THE BRINK OF TEARS. SUDDENLY, THE SOUND OF KNOCKING COMES ECHOING AND MELANIE WHIMPERS]

MELANIE (whispering fiercely to self, audibly upset):  
Whence is that knocking?  
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?  
What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes.  
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood  
Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather  
The multitudinous seas in incarnadine,  
Making the green one red.

[SHE SHOUTS ONCE, QUICK AND LOUD, AND BANGS SOMETHING AGAIN THE METAL WALL. PRESUMABLY, HER HEAD]  
[CLICK]

*

[ACT TWO]

SETTING: The ASSISTANT’S BULLPEN, four months after the previous act. The floor is cleared of debris, and the folding table is gone, but there are stacks of unfiled statements placed sporadically around the room. There’s a coffee pot churning away on one of the stacks, and several large knives sticking out of “hiding places” in comical fashion. MELANIE KING and BASIRA HUSSAIN are seated at two of the three desks.

AT RISE: MELANIE is watching a YouTube video, largely unintelligible, about welding. BASIRA is reading a book titled _Phantasms of the Living, Vol II._ The two are making small talk, focus split between their conversation and the video and book, respectively.

BASIRA:  
Seriously though; a harmonica?

MELANIE (mostly joking, but more defensive than expected):  
I mean, yeah? Piano or guitar are pretty, but you can’t take them with you on the road. Not easily, at the least. Plus, harmonica’s the stereotypical prison instrument.

BASIRA:  
What? Come on. Do you expect to be going to prison anytime soon?

MELANIE snorts and turns in her office chair. As she does so, two additional knives are revealed to be stashed somewhere on her person. 

MELANIE:  
You never know.

BASIRA:  
Right.

MELANIE (continued):  
Also, you hear a lot about people being good at other instruments. How often do you hear about someone being _great_ at harmonica? Never. So I’d be the first, and I’d stand out.

BASIRA (teasing):  
Sure, because so many people would come out to see you play… a…

BASIRA trails off without finishing the sentence, and sits up, her expression shifting into something focused as she places her book down, not even bothering to bookmark it. MELANIE sets her phone down as well, sensing that BASIRA has noticed something wrong, and her fingers dance against one of her knives' sheath.

MELANIE (already on guard):  
What is it?

BASIRA shushes her and MELANIE bristles, but she settles down and listens closely. As she does so, the muffled sound of something thumping rises and gets louder as whatever’s making the noise gets closer.

BASIRA:  
Get rea-

BASIRA is interrupted by the archive’s door slamming open and MARTIN BLACKWOOD runs down the stairs, shouting. His clothes are soaked with blood, and one of his arms hangs limply down at a sickening angle

MARTIN (shouting, fearful):  
GET OUT, GET _OUT!_

BASIRA (cross-talk):  
What’s going on?

MELANIE (cross-talk):  
Martin, what the _fuck?_

MARTIN (continued):  
NO TIME, OUT, OUT, THEY’RE- SHIT! THE- THE MEAT-CREATURE- _GET-_

As MARTIN shouts, something barrels through the door and narrowly misses him.

MARTIN (continued):  
_-OUT! FUCK!_

The thing that came down straightens up to its full height, and it is terrifying. It’s taller than any human person could ever get to and looks only barely human. It has sections of fingers and large toes sculpted onto its arm, everything bulging out horrendously. Amendeges look bigger than they should be, with tendons and bones and fat illogically exposed. MARTIN and BASIRA scream as more figures come down the stairs, all only slightly smaller and less gruesome than the first figure.

BASIRA and MARTIN scream louder as the rest of the MEAT-CREATURES flood the room, the pair of them scrambling out of the way and trying to grab anything they can use as a weapon, both of them accidentally missing the knives set up around the room. MELANIE, on the other hand, jumps to her feet and pulls out both of her knives, screaming less in fear, and more in unbridled fury, the sound ripping out of her chest in a way nearly as terrifying as the creatures themselves. MELANIE launches at the creature closest to her, still screaming. Right before she lands, the lights flash blood red, then go completely dark.

In quick succession, and never for very long, the lights come up all red, then go back down. The screaming and shouting persist even in the darkness, as well as a sound of flesh being carved into. Every time the lights come up, all the characters are in a different position, usually with MELANIE attacking one of the MEAT-CREATURES and BASIRA and MARTIN helping to hold them, or attempting to attack with one of the other weapons (like a gun in BASIRA’S hand, or a knife almost the length of MARTIN’S forearm that he isn’t quite sure how to wield). As more MEAT-CREATURES go down, the more the floor is covered in debris and blood. At one point, MARTIN runs up the archives’ stairs and escapes. As the door opens and closes, there is muffled screaming audible from the upper floors of the Institute, before it’s silenced by the door slamming shut.

Finally, the scene comes up in red, and then sickly yellow lighting and THE DISTORTION (or, HELEN) is there. She is a twisting eyesore, and her appearance changes too much too quickly to be adequately described, but she is almost as terrible to look at as the MEAT-CREATURES are. The first and largest of the MEAT-CREATURES is still standing as MELANIE screams, narrowly dodging it grabbing her as she plunges her knife into its chest.

MELANIE (screaming like a banshee):  
ANOTHER _FUCKING HEART!_

A YELLOW DOOR looms over the MEAT-CREATURE, and HELEN grins as MELANIE and the creature jump when it stretches over him. Her smile is literally unhinged, her mouth dripping off her face and twisted in a way that shouldn’t be possible. 

HELEN (serene):  
Hello, Jared.

JARED (slow, disgustingly spitty and fleshy):  
What?

HELEN:  
Goodbye, Jared.

JARED HOPWORTH makes a face, confused, one of his jaws hanging open. MELANIE takes the distraction to wrench the YELLOW DOOR open and, with an enraged bellow, plunge her knife into his back once more, sending him over the door’s threshold. The YELLOW DOOR slams closed before JARED can so much as shout in surprise, and HELEN’S form straightens out and looks more human. With an exaggerated swallowing sound, she sighs in pleasure.

MELANIE sways on her feet, her fists balled into tight fists, and then she collapses. HELEN stretches her twisting form over her and glows with pride. She caresses MELANIE’S face with one long finger. The lights go completely dark again, and for longer this time.

When the lights come back up, BASIRA, MARTIN, MELANIE, and HELEN are all in the now filthy assistants’ bullpen. The floor and most of the objects in the room are coated with dark blood and flesh. The three humans occasionally turn away to gag and dry-heave, and there actually is one trash can filled with puke, but HELEN just smiles.

The three humans help gather the flesh into a pile that HELEN scoops up or skewers and brings into her DOOR, occasionally closing it and swallowing, before reopening to a clear doorway. MELANIE and BASIRA both have closed off, frustrated expressions, MELANIE practically snarling with restrained anger, and a haunted look in BASIRA’S eyes. MARTIN is still pale and shaking, a couple of tears snaking down his face as he pushes flesh over with a broken-off piece of chair, one of his arms held in a makeshift sling made from a shirt.

MARTIN (quick):  
I don't- I am _really_ sorry, I didn't mean to, to conk out in the middle of a fight, I wasn't trying to abandon you two, I _swear._

BASIRA:  
I-it's fine.

MARTIN (distraught):  
I’m so _sorry._ I just- I panicked, and I was-

BASIRA (frustrated, cross-talk):  
It’s _fine,_ Martin.

MARTIN (continued):  
-trying to get _help,_ and then I, I got out and- and I j-just _collapsed._ I don’t- I wouldn’t-

BASIRA:  
_Martin._ We’re alive. It’s- Hopworth broke your arm and you still managed to warn us, nobody blames you for passing out. It’s okay. We’re all alive.

MARTIN:  
S-still. I am _so_ fucking sorry.

BASIRA:  
...Sure.

MELANIE (tightly):  
Can we quit the assurances until _after_ we get everything in here cleaned up?

BASIRA:  
Yeah. Uh. Should I grab a mop, or something, from the janitors? I think most everyone upstairs has cleared out.

MELANIE:  
Sure. Just shut up and do _something._

BASIRA stands up straight and narrows her eyes at MELANIE, assessing her body language and facial expression with a bit of suspicion until MELANIE barks out at her:

MELANIE (defensive):  
_What?_

BASIRA’S face softens, and she sighs, grabbing MARTIN’S good arm as he begins to look faintly ill once more. She drags him up the stairs, MELANIE tracking the two a little too closely.

BASIRA:  
Nothing. Just… Thank you. We’d be dead without you.

MELANIE (a little touched, but mostly tired)  
...Yeah. Whatever. You’re welcome.

BASIRA (trying to leave the suddenly awkward conversation):  
I- Yeah. Uh, yeah. C’mon, Martin.

MARTIN and BASIRA retreat through the archives’ door, leaving MELANIE and HELEN alone. MELANIE lets out a long exhale of air, relaxing, but her relaxation still doesn’t purge the anger from her eyes or from her curled fists.

HELEN (sympathetically):  
It’s nice to have an outlet for all that anger, isn’t it?

MELANIE (frustrated):  
I don’t know, you tell me.

HELEN:  
Oh, come on. Anger is a little too straight-forward for me. Or at least, the way _you’re_ experiencing it. I’m just making light conversation.

MELANIE:  
Well, you really don’t have to. I’m not exactly in the mood to… talk about it.

HELEN:  
No-one’s ever in the mood to admit that something with that much… bloodshed feels _good._

MELANIE (startled):  
I _don’t-_

HELEN (interrupting):  
You don’t have to hide it, it’s just our little secret. Scout’s honor.

MELANIE hesitates, before she collapses into the closest office chair, the seat squelching of flesh and blood and threatening collapse. HELEN smiles reassuringly, and her legs twist under her to make a sort of seat for her to sit on as well. MELANIE winces and recoils a little bit, but otherwise doesn’t react.

MELANIE:  
...I’m not a monster.

HELEN:  
I never said you were. It would be quite hypocritical if I did, wouldn’t it?

MELANIE:  
Right.

HELEN:  
Now that we’ve got that little assurance out of the way, let me ask again: feels nice, doesn’t it.

MELANIE:  
…

HELEN (exasperated):  
Oh, don’t lose your head now, Macbeth. You’ll never become King at this rate.

MELANIE:  
I- What?

HELEN giggles, and MELANIE winces, doubling over in her chair and clutching at her head. HELEN cuts it off and MELANIE looks up at her sharply with a grimace.

MELANIE:  
_Don’t_ do that. Please.

HELEN:  
Oh, of course, Melanie. That is, as long as the narration doesn’t have me laugh again. If it doesn’t, then I’ll gladly refrain from laughing.

MELANIE:  
You- Jesus, why am I talking to you? You never make any sense.

HELEN:  
Because the script has us talk, do keep up, Melanie.

MELANIE:  
What does that even _mean?_

HELEN laughs again, and MELANIE collapses, almost falling off her chair. As HELEN laughs, she distorts, arms bending and elongating as she resettles herself into a sort of chaise lounge shape, her head tilting in a circle several times. MELANIE shouts through gritted teeth until HELEN stops her laughing and distorting.

MELANIE:  
_Stop._

HELEN (smug):  
Again, not up to me. Listen, Melanie, I would normally balk at the way I’m being written into a script with perfectly concise and straight-forward instructions, but the fact that, one, I’m the only one that seems to realize my limitations, and, two, it’s causing minor torment and confusion in others is a bonafide perk. _Delicious._ :)

MELANIE:  
How’d you do that with your mouth.

HELEN:  
Doesn’t matter. ;) In fact, nothing about this… fourth-wall-breaking matters. The point: Melanie, doesn’t it just feel nice, to carve into flesh? Sure, this situation of protection sucked, but wasn’t it fun to plunge a knife into flesh and feel it _yield?_ To feel the blood splatter on your face, over and over again?

MELANIE:  
I- Yes, I- Shit, _shit._ Stop talking, let’s just- Can we keep tossing the meat? Basira and Martin will be back down with the mop any minute so let’s just… finish.

HELEN shrugs and uncoils herself slowly as MELANIE pushes unsteadily to her feet. HELEN sighs as MELANIE kicks a piece of meat over and stares at her DOOR expectantly.

HELEN:  
By the pricking of my thumbs,  
Something wicked this way comes.  
Open, locks,  
Whoever knocks!

MELANIE:  
What, is that _more_ Shakespeare?

HELEN:  
Inside joke. Play along. Knock, would you?

MELANIE stares at her, then grimaces and raises her fist to knock on the YELLOW DOOR.

END OF ACT TWO

*  
[CLICK]  
[A DOOR CREAKS OPEN]

THE DISTORTION:  
Thou hast it now: king, London, Cambridge, all,  
As the weird women promised, and, I fear,  
Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said  
It should not stand in thy posterity,  
But that myself should be the root and father  
Of many kings. If there come truth from them--  
As upon thee, Melanie, their speeches shine--  
Why, by the verities on thee made good,  
May they not be my oracles as well,  
And set me up in hope? But hush! no more.

[A HUMMING PRECEDES THE ARRIVAL OF TWO PEOPLE]

MELANIE (no indication of her fear from last time, cool as a cucumber):  
Here's our chief guest.

THE SLAUGHTER (smugly pleased):  
If she had been forgotten,  
It had been as a gap in our great feast,  
And all-thing unbecoming.

MELANIE:  
Tonight we hold a solemn supper ma’am,  
And I'll request your presence.

THE DISTORTION (coy):  
Let your highness  
Command upon me; to the which my duties  
Are with a most indissoluble tie  
Forever knit.

MELANIE:  
Ride you this afternoon?

THE DISTORTION:  
Ay, my good lord.

MELANIE:  
We should have else desired your good advice,  
Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,  
In this day's council; but we'll take tomorrow.

[PAUSE]

MELANIE (continued, suspicious):  
Is't far you ride?

THE DISTORTION (in a _who-me?_ sort of voice):  
As far, my lord, as will fill up the time  
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better,  
I must become a borrower of the night  
For a dark hour or twain.

MELANIE (warning, still suspicious, and a little bit haughty):  
Fail not our feast.

[THE DISTORTION LAUGHS, AND WHILE MELANIE HISSES IN PAIN, THE SLAUGHTER JUST HUMS IN DISAPPROVAL]

THE DISTORTION (audibly grinning):  
My lord, I will not.

[CLICK]

*

[ACT THREE]

SETTING: A large hallway, dim except for the torchlight of MELANIE KING’S phone. There are two cots set up side by side, with bags of clothing next to each. On one cot, there are multiple books and a phone plugged into a large portable charger. There is a gun tucked under the pillows. On the other cot are several knives, and approximately a bazillion portable chargers. There is an additional gun stuffed under that cot’s pillows as well.

AT RISE: MELANIE KING is crouched next to her cot, and staring at a note she's holding. She looks tired, angry, and a little bit sad. Mostly angry, however, because day by day, the extent to which she can feel things other than anger is waning.

MELANIE (whispering):  
Bastard.

MELANIE hunches further inwards, and begins shaking with fury.

MELANIE (starting off quiet, but growing louder with each word):  
Idiot. Fucker. Moron! Dickhead! _Douchebag!_

MELANIE begins to bang on the walls with every word, the note in her hand getting crumpled as she makes a fist.

MELANIE (still getting louder):  
Dumbass! IDIOT! _STUPID, OBLIVIOUS, TOO-TRUSTING MELANIE!_

MELANIE punches the wall, leaving a small indent and bloodying her knuckles, but she gives no mind. She uncrumples the note and tears it to shreds, still shouting.

MELANIE (shouting):  
_BASTARD! ASSHOLE! MOTHERFUCKING, BACKSTABBING IDIOT!_

She stands up and tosses the pieces of paper, then kicks and punches the walls of the tunnels further, just screaming in nonsensical fury. As she screams and flails, a door pops into existence a little ways away, and HELEN steps out, staring at MELANIE with surprise. 

HELEN (cautious):  
Melanie?

MELANIE whips around. Her face is twisted up and she has fire in her eyes; MELANIE seethes, taking deep, guttural breaths as if she’s trying to stop herself from crying, but either way, tears won’t flow. Her posture is tight and stooped, like she’s putting all her effort into restraining herself.

HELEN (sympathetic):  
Oh, Melanie.

MELANIE (attempting for neutrality, but comes out too sharp):  
What do you want, Helen?

HELEN:  
I heard shouts, and I wanted to come and check up on you.

MELANIE (flat disbelief):  
Really?

HELEN:  
Honestly. I… Sorry, um. Do you want me to leave?

The fight drains out of MELANIE and she slumps onto her cot, the one with knives on it. Not all of the fight leaves, just enough to keep her eyes dark and alert, but she’s stopped having a minor breakdown, so that’s good.

MELANIE:  
You’re fine, I suppose. Do whatever you want. I’m not going to be very fun to hang out with right now.

HELEN comes over and awkwardly folds in on herself until she can sit next to MELANIE on the cot, her legs literally coiled out in front of her, and her large, sharp hands curled tightly next to her body.

HELEN:  
I don’t enjoy being around you _just_ because you’re entertaining. You’re a very… honest person, Ms. King. That is a bit of a rare commodity for me, if you haven’t quite figured it out.

MELANIE (very put-out):  
Is this going to be a motivational speech or something?

HELEN (knowing it was definitely supposed to be a motivational speech or something):  
…Nnnno?

MELANIE barks out a laugh, and HELEN looks surprised, and slightly pleased before the smile re-drops from MELANIE’S face.

MELANIE:  
Don’t give me that. Look, I don’t- Okay, so Martin’s gone and- Ugh. Have you met Lukas, yet? Peter Lukas, the dude Elias sent in to run the place while he’s arrested?

HELEN:  
Not personally, but I have heard of him, yes. He’s part of those Lonely sea folk, isn’t he?

MELANIE:  
Yeah. Exactly. Um. He’s vanished quite a few people, and he’s making changes and shit to separate the departments, which is… unsurprising, I suppose. Anyways, he’s a… A bad guy, capital B. Slightly less than, ugh, Elias himself, but that’s a low bar. And people are _still_ going missing.

HELEN:  
Does this story have a point?

MELANIE:  
Hey, look, you asked to sit here and listen to me bitch; you’re hearing _all_ of my bitching. Er.

MELANIE quiets and looks down, pulling her knees up to her chest. She looks awfully small like that, and HELEN imitates her, her limbs curling inwards and actually shortening until she has the proportions of the average human, the only differences being the finer details of her appearance and her hands, which are still ginormous.

MELANIE (small):  
Martin joined Lukas, jumped ship to become his creepy little personal assistant. It’s not like I’m _friends_ with Martin, but he’s still- He and Basira are the only ones left, the only ones that understand. Now it’s just Basira and me, alone, stuck in- st-stuck in the archives. 

HELEN:  
Oh.

MELANIE:  
And when he- And when he told us, he had the AUDACITY to ask for us to _trust him._ Fucking- I don’t-

MELANIE stops as her voice begins to rise, her face tight and eyes screwed shut until she manages to even out her breathing.

MELANIE (carefully, tone even until it peters back into anger at the end):  
Me and Basira tried to talk some sense into him, but it didn’t work, so I figured we just had to give him a little time, a night’s rest, and he’d gather his senses. I was out all night, checking out a spot we suspected had an incarnation of the Lightless Flame - which was a bust, bee-tee-double-you - and Basira said she got up before him. So, I came to check on him and he- All his stuff was missing, and all that was left was a note from him apologizing, telling us to _just trust him_ and _stay away_ for a little while and it’s- It’s such _horseshit!_

HELEN:  
Oh, Melanie.

MELANIE (continued):  
I went to- I went to the _fucking funeral! All the funerals!_ I went to _Daisy’s,_ and to _Tim’s,_ and to _SASHA’S._ I went to his _motherfucking mother’s funeral!_ I never met her! She sounded like a douchebag. And I _went._ Because I _cared._ Because I _tried!_ Because there’s _NO-ONE ELSE, AND HE HAD TO GO AND BETRAY US JUST TO FUCK OFF AND SUCK LUKAS’ DICK._

HELEN:  
_Melanie-_

MELANIE ignores HELEN, instead twisting around to a wall and punching it again, screeching. HELEN watches, her expression split between worry and neutrality. She shouldn’t care, especially as this anger just benefits MELANIE’S god, in the end, and it would be hypocritical of her to get in the way of that, but…

HELEN wraps her arms around MELANIE. When she struggles, the arms wrap further, looping around her several times until MELANIE is properly restrained. MELANIE is snarling and gnashing and thrashing like a wild animal. HELEN shushes her, constricting like a boa constrictor until the pressure forces the fight out of MELANIE. 

MELANIE breathes out, heaving and heavy, like an accompaniment to a sob. Her eyes are dry, the tears refusing to try too hard to escape, and yet, her chest shudders in HELEN’S arms. There is no relief, no escape from the pressure in her chest and her head and her throat, but she curls into the hold, angry and upset and betrayed and too-tight and unable to do shit about it.

MELANIE (shaky):  
Why are you doing this?

HELEN:  
Shush. Martin doesn’t deserve you.

MELANIE (desperately needy, the words falling out before she can stop them):  
But I need him. I n-need everyone I c-c-can-

HELEN:  
Shhh.

HELEN brushes the hair out of MELANIE’S face, auburn twisting into black into blonde into teal. A second mouth grows out of the side of her face and it curls forwards, presses a kiss to her forehead gently, like reassuring a feral animal (not that you should give feral animals little kisses) leaving a blue-screen-of-death colored print in the shape of a heart pressed up against her hairline.

HELEN:  
Shh. Shh. Shh.

END OF ACT THREE

*  
[CLICK]  
[THE AMBIENT SOUNDS OF PEOPLE SPEAKING QUIETLY, EATING AND DRINKING IN MERRIMENT. THE VOICES SOUND SLIGHTLY MUFFLED, AS HEARD FROM SOME DISTANCE, OR SOMETHING IN-BETWEEN THE PEOPLE AND WHERE THEY’RE BEING HEARD FROM. THERE IS A WHIRRING TAPE RECORDER, FROM SLIGHTLY ABOVE]

MELANIE (a toast! Slightly depressed, but not suspiciously so):  
Here had we now our country's honour roof'd,  
Were the graced person of our Jon present;  
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness  
Than pity for mischance.

BASIRA:  
His absence, sir,  
Lays blame upon his promise. Please't your highness  
To grace us with your royal company?

[MELANIE HUMS IN AGREEMENT, AND THEN STOPS SHORT]

MELANIE (confused, slow):  
The table's full.

MARTIN:  
Here is a place reserved, sir.

MELANIE:  
Where?

MARTIN (also confused and slow):  
Here, my good lord. What is't that moves your highness?

[MELANIE GASPS QUIETLY, THE SOUND BARELY AUDIBLE]

MELANIE (flat and accusing, a little frightened):  
Which of you have done this?

OTHER ARCHIVAL ASSISTANTS:  
What, my good lord?

[MELANIE SCOFFS, AND THEN HER VOICE HUSHES TO A WHISPER, EXCEPT - IT GETS CLOSER, AS IF SHE’S LOWERING HER FACE TO WHATEVER’S RECORDING HER SPEECH]

MELANIE:  
Thou canst not say I did it: never shake  
Thy gory locks at me.

BASIRA:  
Assistants, rise: her highness is not well.

THE SLAUGHTER (attempting for deflection, not very good at it):  
Sit, worthy friends: my lord is often thus,  
And hath been from her youth: pray you, keep seat;  
The fit is momentary; upon a thought  
She will again be well: if much you note her,  
You shall offend her and extend her passion:  
Feed, and regard her not. 

[THE SOUND OF SOMEONE WALKING OVER TO MELANIE]  
[FABRIC RUSTLING, PRESUMABLY AS SOMEONE PLACES A HAND ON A SHOULDER]

THE SLAUGHTER (furious, quiet enough that only Melanie may hear it):  
Are you a woman?

MELANIE (still stricken with fear, though tamping down on it, a little indigent):  
Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that  
Which might appal the devil.

[THE SLAUGHTER SCOFFS]

THE SLAUGHTER (patiently impatient):  
O proper stuff!  
This is the very painting of your fear:  
This is the air-drawn dagger which, you said,  
Led you to Georgie. O, these flaws and starts,  
Impostors to true fear, would well become  
A woman's story at a winter's fire,  
Authorized by her grandam. Shame itself!  
Why do you make such faces? When all's done,  
You look but on a stool.

MELANIE (frantic):  
Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo!  
how say you?

[PAUSE]

MELANIE (continued, again to the tape recorder):  
Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.  
If charnel-houses and our graves must send  
Those that we bury back, our monuments  
Shall be the maws of kites.

[MELANIE MAKES A NOISE OF SURPRISE AS THE WHIRRING OF THE SECOND TAPE RECORDER CLICKS AND VANISHES]

THE SLAUGHTER (annoyed):  
What, quite unmann'd in folly?

MELANIE:  
If I stand here, I saw him.

THE SLAUGHTER:  
Fie, for shame!

MELANIE (terrified, angry, confused, talking nonsense):  
Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time,  
Ere human statute purged the gentle weal;  
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd  
Too terrible for the ear: the times have been,  
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,  
And there an end; but now they rise again,  
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,  
And push us from our stools: this is more strange  
Than such a murder is.

[THE SLAUGHTER SIGHS, AND MELANIE MAKES A SWALLOWED SOUND OF FEAR, AND THEN SHE RISES AWAY FROM THE CHAIR THE TAPE RECORDER SITS UNDER, AND HER VOICE GROWS DISTANT AGAIN]  
[CLICK]

*

[ACT FOUR]

SETTING: The assistants’ bullpen, clean once more. One of the three desks is empty, hollow, gutted out. There are slash marks carved into the wood, old and deep, and somehow radiating a wave of dark, guttural anger. There are even more weapons than last time, and there are tape recorders piled high - none of them whirring, but seemingly watching nonetheless, waiting for the boring bits to get exciting.

AT RISE: The room is empty of people, but there is humorous music playing that rose with the curtain.

A door opens, and out steps JONATHAN SIMS. He’s back from the dead, baby! His hair is longer than it’s been in years, he has a headache all the time now, but at least while he was in a coma the doctors helped care for his burn, so that’s something! He’s holding a book.

MELANIE KING enters the room with something that could be described as ‘swagger,’ if swagger was walking around like you wanted the floor to shatter under your feet. JON doesn’t see her, but takes another step, accidentally stepping on a crumpled piece of paper on the ground. Both he and MELANIE’S heads snap up. In an instant, their expressions change.

JON looks alarmed, hilariously so. For an all-knowing eldritch pawn, he’s not very aware of his surroundings. He also looks slightly frightened, but again, this is a funny scene. MELANIE, on the other hand, looks like a bull about to charge. 

MELANIE (growling):  
_You…_

JON immediately runs away.

The curtains fall, and when they come back up, we’re greeted with another setting: the hallways of the upper Magnus Institute. They are clean, wide, and empty. There is a fog machine. The funny music is still playing, slightly louder this time. There is a door near the end of the hallway.

JON begins to walk down the hallway, looking around desperately with a narrow focus. He’s searching for something. Then, we hear:

MELANIE:  
God, seriously? Everyone’s done the dancing plague!

GEORGIE (tinny, muffled):  
_Yeah,_ but I haven’t, so that’s why I ought to do it.

MELANIE:  
Right. This isn’t just sponsorship money talking, is it?

JON yelps as MELANIE gets closer. He spots the door and jumps inside the room. There is a peeling sticker on it, which has curled over on itself so much that you can’t even see what it says.

GEORGIE:  
Urgh. No. Mostly no. Did I tell you, I’ve got a new sponsorship this time? ‘S a dating app, I think? Called ‘Sparks Fly.’

MELANIE:  
Ooh, _fun._ Gonna test it? Make sure that it lives up to standards? Go have a decent shag to get your mind off things?

MELANIE enters the hallway, and, surprisingly, she’s smiling. It’s a little too toothy, but she actually looks… happy. Her statements all sound a little snappish and harsh, but clearly, GEORGIE doesn’t mind too much.

GEORGIE:  
Ha! Fuck off. The last online date I went on was… ooh, christ, it was over six months back? The mountaineer guy.

MELANIE:  
Oh my god, what a way to start a dry spell.

MELANIE notices the peeling sticker and rolls her eyes. She straightens it out, though she blocks what it says.

MELANIE (continued):  
Well, you’ll have to tell me how it sounds. I’m… also having a bit of a break from dating.

GEORGIE (softly):  
Sure, but yours makes more sense.

MELANIE:  
Yeah, b- Uh, nevermind, we’re getting _way_ too close to discussing my job and… Anyway, _so_ not in the mood.

GEORGIE:  
Right. Well, after I write a first draft we can go out to eat or something?

MELANIE:  
I’ll have to check if my calendar is empty, you know how busy I am… HAHAHA! Okay, yeah, text me the details?

GEORGIE (amused):  
You know it.

MELANIE:  
Cool. Talk to you later.

The phone beeps as the call ends. MELANIE is grinning, and she shoves the phone in her jacket pocket before walking away, her arms wrapped around her like she’s hugging herself. As she moves out, we see the sign. It reads: ‘SCORPION ROOM, THE ROOM FULL OF SCORPIONS. DANGER: SCORPIONS.’

JON emerges from the scorpion room, looking unamused. There is a scorpion on his head, and one on his shoulder. The one on his shoulder stings him.

JON (flat):  
Ow.

The curtain falls, and after a bit of shuffling, rises once more. The humorous music is so loud now, you can barely hear yourself think. JON is eating in the breakroom, or at least attempting to eat. He is very blandly chewing through what appears to be a turkey sandwich, looking slightly nauseous. As he chews another bite, MELANIE comes into the scene, scowling.

MELANIE (already angry):  
JON.

JON (suddenly alarmed):  
Me!

They stare at each other for a moment, frozen, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. And then, JON raises his hand and throws the half of his sandwich he was just eating at her with a weak grunt. It hits her forehead. She looks very confused, and then lunges for him, but JON takes the moment of confusion and uses it to scramble on top of the refrigerator. He’s not a tall man, but he’s taller than MELANIE!

She tries to snag him, hissing like a cat, but misses. She keeps trying! This goes on for a while. The stage lights dim, then come back up. There is suddenly a giant clock reading two in the afternoon. In a quick motion, it switches to two in the morning. JON is still up on the fridge, and MELANIE is still trying to get him, though she’s slowing down considerably. Why doesn’t she use a chair to get him?

MELANIE makes a few more sluggish passes, before sitting down and promptly falling asleep. Carefully, Jon gets off of the fridge and toes out of the room. The door creaks as he opens it to leave, and MELANIE wakes, looking at him. JON shrieks and shuts the door behind him. MELANIE lunges, but she doesn’t get him in time. The door closes, and she smacks against it, like she’s a bird hitting a window. It’s so fucking funny. You are crying with laughter.

The curtain goes down. It goes so down it begins to flow off the stage. You are still laughing.

As it rises, so does the music. The music is so hilarious, and so loud. Your ears are bleeding. BASIRA is sitting at a desk set perfectly in the middle. There is a piece of wood splitting her in half, as well as the room. One half of the room is neat and tidy, except for the approximately hundreds of tape recorders all piled up together. The other half is strewn about, like someone threw everything about the room, and there is a knife shoved into the table next to her. She is reading.

MELANIE and JON storm in from separate sides at the exact same time. They’re saying something, but it’s inaudible over the music. The music makes you think of a clown throwing a pie in someone’s face. There are tears rolling down your face.

Suddenly: JON and MELANIE slam a hand on their sides of the desk.

MELANIE AND JON (in unison, yelling):  
ENOUGH!

The music cuts out. It is deathly silent. You are gasping for air. BASIRA looks up slowly.

BASIRA (measured):  
Yes?

MELANIE AND JON (in unison):  
I’m sick of this. I’m sick of feeling unsafe here. I live here. I shouldn’t feel like I’m about to die whenever I try and walk down a hallway!

BASIRA:  
Mhm.

MELANIE AND JON (in unison):  
Isn’t there anything you can do to help?

BASIRA:  
Sorry, but what exactly d’you expect me to do?

MELANIE (cross-talk with JON):  
That _thing_ needs out.

JON (cross-talk with MELANIE):  
Melanie needs _help._

BASIRA (exasperated):  
I told you, it’s fine. I want them here. I’m sorry you’re having such a difficult time. They can help save lives.

MELANIE AND JON (in unison):  
Not like this. ...Fine, I’ll drop it for now. _Again._ But I’m sick of this, Basira. I can’t keep living like this.

BASIRA (off-handedly):  
You two are very alike, you know. Now, you mind? I’m reading. We can take this up again when I’m not busy.

JON sighs, nods, and slinks dejectedly off. MELANIE shakes angrily, before turning on her heel and storming off. BASIRA groans and her head falls into her hands.

BASIRA:  
Why do I have to be the middle-man?

END OF ACT FOUR.

*

[CLICK]  
[THUMPING, COMBAT BOOTS AGAINST THE FOOR. SOMEONE - TWO SOMEONE’S - ARE WALKING THROUGH THE TUNNELS, THE SOUND ECHOING STRANGELY]

MELANIE (tight with anger and drive):  
Hang out our banners on the outward walls;  
The cry is still 'They come:' our castle's strength  
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie  
Till famine and the ague eat them up:  
Were they not forced with those that should be ours,  
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,  
And beat them backward home.

[DISTANTLY, THE SOUND OF CUTTING INTO MEAT, AND THEN SCREAMING. CLANGING, AS IF SOMEONE’S RUNNING.]  
[MELANIE MAKES A SOUND LIKE SHE’S BEEN GUTTED]

MELANIE (dazed):  
What is that noise?

BASIRA (confused, somewhat concerned):  
It is the cry of women, my good lord.

[THUMPING AS ONE OF THEM EXITS UNTIL THERE IS THE SOUND OF ONLY ONE PERSON BREATHING HEAVILY]

MELANIE (to herself, overcome with pain and begging to cry. how is she crying? she hasn’t cried in months):  
I have almost forgot the taste of fears;  
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd  
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair  
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir  
As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;  
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts  
Cannot once start me.

[THUMPING AS BASIRA RE-ENTERS AND MELANIE MAKES A HIGH KEENING SOUND, AS IF SHE’S IN PAIN]

MELANIE:  
Wherefore was that cry?

BASIRA (gently, a little exhausted):  
The queen, my lord, is dead.

[PAUSE]  
[CHOKED SOB, AND THEN A THUNK OF MELANIE FALLING, GASPING FOR AIR]

MELANIE (slowly, through gritted teeth):  
She should have died hereafter;  
There would have been a time for such a word.  
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day  
To the last syllable of recorded time,  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

[MUFFLED PAINED SCREAM, A THUNK AS MELANIE PUNCHES THE GROUND]

MELANIE (shaky, trying her best to get the words out):  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more: it is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
Signifying nothing.

[MELANIE GROANS ONE FINALE TIME, AND THEN THE SOUND OF HER COLLAPSING. BASIRA CURSES AND THERE IS A RAPID THUMPING AS SHE RUSHES TO HELP HER]  
[CLICK]

*

[ACT FIVE]

SETTING: JON’S office. At this point, there are just papers upon papers, storage boxes off-kilter, a laptop propped up on multiple creasing case files, and oh my god. Why are there so many mugs. Are they empty? Are they fucking possessed? They used to be coffee or tea of some type! Now it’s all just… sludge.

AT RISE: JONATHAN SIMS is sitting back in his chair, rocking ever so slightly back and forth, though he doesn’t seem to realize it. He’s fiddling with a pen in one hand as his laptop plays some YouTube video about architecture in video games. He has another fucking mug in one of his hands, holy shit.

After a couple of words filter through about brutalism and the destruction of capitalist buildings, there’s a knock on the door. Before JON can answer, the door is kicked in, reminiscent of Candace Flynn in that one comic. It’s MELANIE KING. Instinctively, JON shrinks in on himself, awash in terror.

MELANIE notices, and frowns, deliberately attempting to make herself less threatening, coming over to him slowly, like he’s a particularly wild cat.

MELANIE:  
My bad. Forgot you’re jumpier around me now.

She sets a Subway© bag onto his desk, and he shoots her a wary look before poking it with one of his pens, the YouTube video getting paused somewhere in the way.

JON (suspicious, accidentally compelling):  
What is it?

MELANIE (compelled):  
Lunch.

The two of them stare at each other for a moment in surprise, MELANIE’S lips curled down in frustration at the edges, while JON mostly looks guilty and, once he can, avoids eye contact, his fingers fiddling with a button on his cardigan.

JON:  
I’m sorry.

MELANIE (exhausted):  
It’s okay. You didn’t mean to. Wasn’t that big of an ask anyway, ‘s just a sandwich.

JON (hesitant and guilty):  
Right. Lunch. Can I- Er, I’d like to understand why you bought it for me.

MELANIE takes a seat from across him, barely giving the rotting mugs a glance. She gives her best non-threatening position, palms open, trying to keep him calm even though he’s giving her a nervous look.

MELANIE:  
This. The fear around me. I’m still upset about… the bullet, and the questions, but I figure it’s good to extend the olive branch. So, I’m starting with you.

JON:  
Wait, I’m sorry, you’re, what, trying to be nice to me for once?

MELANIE (neutral):  
My therapist recommended I start trying to apologize to people I hurt. I’m… trying to stop the cycle of, like, anger and frustration and just general meanness. You’re trying, most of the time, so I am now too.

JON:  
Oh. Well, now I feel like an asshole.

MELANIE:  
Don’t sweat it. Um. So, yeah. Lunch. I don’t know what you like, so I got the Italian something or other. Oh, uh, with turkey instead of ham, because that is the one thing I know you dislike.

JON:  
Ah, that’s fine. How did, er- I would like to know how you know I don’t like ham.

MELANIE (awkwardly):  
Um, Georgie said.

JON:  
Oh.

MELANIE:  
Yeah, er- She mentions you occasionally when we’re- Just small things. Like how she appreciates having a friend who can actually stand the taste of it, so she can buy it now, little things like that..

JON (no-no-it’s-fine-i-promise voice):  
It’s fine, Melanie, I don’t- I don’t care. She can, uh, shit-talk me all she wants, she’s got the right.

MELANIE:  
Cool. Um. Anyways, I just- Yeah, so sorry about, er, kind of going a little manic on you for a while there. I just, just wanted to apologize.

JON:  
It’s, it’s okay, you weren’t in your right mind.

MELANIE:  
Right. Oh, um, and that thing you did for Daisy? Was uh, it was very nice. Basira is a bit more manageable to be around.

JON (surprised):  
Oh, uh, it wasn’t any- I mean, I had the, you know, ability. I had to. Um. But, thanks.

The two of them bask in the awkwardness of the interaction a little bit longer, before MELANIE stands up and starts to sidle back towards the office door.

MELANIE:  
So, I’m just gonna-

JON:  
Yeah, no, go ahead! Er, I appreciate the sandwich, Melanie, thanks.

MELANIE:  
‘Course.

She gives one last pained smile before darting away. Well, that sucked. JON inspects the sandwich a little, unwrapping it and just staring at it. He looks briefly to the door, and smiles, before beginning to eat.

The curtain closes, and after the sound of shuffling, it reopens. JONATHAN SIMS stands in a dirty alleyway outside of The Magnus Institute, breathing heavily onto his hands in hopes of warming his fingers up, keeping his cardigan wrapped around him. After a minute, he fishes out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with a shaking hand.

Before he can shove the box back into his pocket, the door opens, and MELANIE KING pokes her head out, giving him a quick nod before she steps out next to him.

MELANIE:  
Mind if I bum a cig?

JON:  
Oh, uh, sure. Need a light?

MELANIE:  
If you don’t mind, thanks.

He passes her a cigarette, and then flicks his lighter open, cursing quietly until he manages to get it started. MELANIE lights hers first, taking a long drag as he lights his own. It’s an interesting looking design, all cased in spiderwebs, which she wouldn’t guess from him.

JON:  
Not that I mind sharing, but since when do _you_ smoke?

MELANIE (between drags):  
Oh, uh. Not much. Started around Hopworth, when the agitation to, y’know.

MELANIE mimes stabbing with the hand not occupied by her cigarette and does a bad rendition of the _Psycho_ theme as JON watches, a mixture of disapproving and amused.

MELANIE (continued):  
When the agitation built up. Not much outlet in a nine-to-five office job, even if it's at the goddamn Ghostbusters Society. Not a good habit, I guess. My therapist is trying to get me to stop.

MELANIE is quiet for a second, scuffing her boots in between inhales. JON watches carefully through the corner of his eye, not saying anything.

MELANIE (continued, careful):  
And Georgie. Doesn't really like having two smoker friends. Makes me rinse with mouthwash after every break or bans me from her place.

She glances a look at JON and catches him smiling ever so slightly. When he notices her staring, he breathes out on his hands, both to keep them warm and to cover his face.

MELANIE:  
What?

JON:  
Nothing.

MELANIE:  
Oh, c’mon, you disaster. What is it?

JON:  
…Just thinking about how she used to do that to me as well, when we were dating, and when I was staying at her place when everything first started going to hell.

MELANIE huffs out a laugh and turns back to the alleyway.

JON (continued, jokingly):  
She's really quite ruthless, isn't she?

MELANIE (awe):  
She’s something, alright.

He blinks at her, shifting the hand his cigarette is in. As MELANIE talks, leaning against the cement of the building, a smile starts to creep out from her teeth. It’s something resembling the smile she used to have when talking about Georgie pre-bullet, but more vulnerable in its intensity.

JON:  
She’s a really good friend to you, huh?

MELANIE (amused at some unspoken joke):  
Yeah, yeah, we’re _real_ close friends.

JON (regretful. grateful):  
Right.

The conversation has an awkward weight now, the two of them silent. Is it okay to feel so happy when it’s at the expense of another’s sadness? Is it okay to feel so hurt when someone else is just so deservedly happy?

MELANIE (just trying something on for size):  
So, last week, Georgie was cleaning out her stuff from the flat, you know? Just old knick-knacks, stuff that’s just cluttering up the place. She wasn’t gonna do it but I was like “oh I don’t wanna go into work for like, one fucking day,” so we made a day of it, right?

JON:  
Okay…

MELANIE (continued, on a roll):  
So we were going over her DVD and CD stuff, getting rid of shit movies and music she didn’t listen to anymore. A couple of proper records that she kept, despite not having a player. That sort of thing. And as she was putting something in the garbage bag, I realized I recognized the cover, and when interrogated, she deflected, saying they were yours. So, Jon, I just have one question for you.

JON:  
Um, yes?

MELANIE:  
Did you really used to listen to Katy Perry?

JON stops short, staring at the wall in front of him. Then, he begins to laugh, his mouth curving up in a smile. As he laughs, MELANIE begins to laugh along, the two of them stuck in that dingy alleyway outside the Magnus Institute, just laughing like children.

JON (through giggles):  
It was a long time ago! I don't listen to her anymore!

MELANIE (gasping for air):  
Oh, my god.

JON:  
“One Of The Boys” was very formative in my trans awakening!

MELANIE:  
Jon, holy shit!

The two of them devolve into laughter once more, threatening collapse. They fall into one another, the hands not holding neglected cigarettes clutching one another’s shoulders. Finally, it comes to a shuddering stop, the both of them grinning.

JON (amused):  
Does she still have them?

MELANIE (teasing):  
No, no. Don’t even worry. She tossed it after explaining. This can stay between us, her, and the Admiral.

When MELANIE answers no, JON freezes, his smile affixed to his face even as his eyebrows furrow together.

JON:  
She tossed it?

MELANIE:  
Technically donated it, but yeah. Sorry if you had your hopes set on getting it back.

JON (unrecognizable emotion):  
Oh.

MELANIE darts a look at him, and to her horror, his expression crumbles like paper under water. She’s seen him deal with (or at least the after-effects of dealing with) a lot: being framed for murder, werewolves hell-bent on killing him, evil clowns, the Spiral, MELANIE’S anger, coming back from the dead, finding out his boyfriend(?) went off to the dark side.

She’s never seen this expression. It’s a mixture of regret, and hurt, and surprise, and a little bit of anger, right in the corner. JON begins to chuckle lightly, the sound a little too sharp. He walks over to the nearby trash, puts the cig out, and tosses it in.

MELANIE:  
Jon, are you alright?

JON (mostly to himself, but also not):  
She binned it. Jesus, fuck.

He laughs again, bringing his head to his forehead and looking up at the sky. MELANIE approaches him slowly.

MELANIE (wary):  
Jon?

JON (sudden and mournful):  
Even after our breakup, she didn’t get rid of it. Even after I moved out of her place when my name was cleared, she didn’t get rid of it. She didn’t even get rid of the CD while I was dead. Georgie actually tossed it.

MELANIE (awkward):  
Oh. Oh. Jon… Um-

He steps away from her, regrets clouding his expression.

JON:  
It’s okay. It’s fine. Thank you for telling me, Melanie.

MELANIE:  
No… No problem.

JON:  
I’m going to go back inside. Do you need another cig before I head in?

MELANIE (apologetic with unspoken words):  
I’m fine.

He nods, smiling at her, and then leaves. She watches him go.

The curtain goes down. After some shuffling, the curtain rises once again to GEORGIE and MELANIE. They’re sitting on a couch, which is positioned so the audience can only see the back of the couch and the backs of their heads.

There is some silence before, apropos to nothing:

MELANIE:  
Why don't you like Jon much anymore?

GEORGIE:  
Er…

MELANIE:  
I mean, I'm not vouching for him or anything, if that's what you're wondering. I'm still angry with him most of the time. I'm just curious. I mean, even if you were frustrated with Jon before his coma, you still made time for him.

GEORGIE pauses, before stretching an arm around MELANIE’S shoulders, her hand coming to rest on the nape of her neck. MELANIE leans into the gesture.

GEORGIE:  
Right. I mean. Jon's always had a problem with not… _fixing_ himself unless there's someone there to coach him along. And I'm not- I mean, at one point I was-

She heaves a long sigh, scratching sheepishly at the back of her neck for a moment.

GEORGIE (continued):  
One time I accidentally caught him in his office when I was searching for you to bring you to therapy and I just- It was weird. This isn't the reason, by the way. But it was weird. I recommended therapy to him as well, said I was there to pick you up. And then he asked if I'd accompany him as well. 

MELANIE:  
Oh.

GEORGIE:  
Right. And I'm just- He needs someone to help him, someone to keep him in check. I can't be that person anymore, ‘Nie. Especially when he seems so reluctant to take that leap, separate himself.

MELANIE:  
I- I hate that I'm about to do this, but I feel like… like you need to give Jon a little more slack, George. You- You don't know how- How _agonizing_ it is to be infected with a power. How intoxicating it is, especially if it's one you've already got a natural tendency for. With Jon it's just as simple as- as-

GEORGIE turns her head to look at her, the exposed half of her profile looking confused and concerned.

MELANIE (continued):  
The way he explained it, it was sink or swim. Commit, or die. So Jon bit the bullet, and it's not as simple as… removing the bullet, to dislodge the power. Especially when you're- when you're as far along as Jon. I know you can't be his- be his cane anymore, his guardian. I'm not asking you to. But I just- It hurts when you talk about how it has to be so easy to fix yourself. It's not. It's scary and it's hard. And it upsets me.

There is a long stretch of silence, before GEORGIE sighs, stretching out slightly. As she does, there is an offended mew from an unseen critter.

GEORGIE (in an upset rush):  
I try not to compare you two in my head, but it's hard sometimes. You two are just… so alike. And it's like, you're slowly extracting yourself. Why can't he, you know?

MELANIE:  
George…

GEORGIE:  
When he was still staying with me, I gave him a statement of mine, about an encounter years back. And, night after night, for months, I've been- It doesn't scare me, the dream, but I've been dreaming about the encounter, every single night, for- for _months._ Since the night I first gave it, basically. And I just- I don't- I don't tell you, but I've been waking up… physically numb. I can still move fine, but I can't feel anything. Like the nerves are cauterized. And I just know that it's Jon's fault. I can't deal with that, and I can't deal with- with Jon asking if I'd go with him as well. He's scared. But I can't- I can't be his reason anymore, y’know? Because he's made his choice, and he chose his reason. His point for living. And I'm not it, and he's not it, and I don't know what is, but I think it's something too monstrous for him to make it out alive. I won't try to be his reason when he won't _let me_ his reason. I can't be an anchor, and that's all he subsidizes on nowadays.

MELANIE:  
Okay, okay. I know what you’re saying. You’re right. I don’t exactly know what’s pushing him to keep going at this point, besides sheer- I- I dunno. I don’t know what I was gonna say. I’m sorry.

GEORGIE:  
No, I shouldn’t have gone off on you.

MELANIE:  
I was the one who brought him up in the first place.

GEORGIE:  
Still.

There is a pause, and then MELANIE turns her head to look at her. Their faces are so close.

MELANIE (quiet):  
We should get something to eat. We could go out.

GEORGIE (soft):  
Let’s stay in.

MELANIE:  
Okay.

The curtain falls closed. When the curtain opens again, it’s in media res, JON and MELANIE sitting on the tram, the cart nearly empty except for one STRANGER lurking on the left side, carefully avoiding them in all of their haggard glory. The two of them are toting Chinese to-go boxes. For context, they are arguing about whether or not Shakespeare wrote his own plays.

MELANIE (passionate, righteous fury):  
And _furthermore,_ if you listen to those History channel ancient-alien worshipping fucks on this topic, I’ve already lost you, and I don’t know why I just ranted at you for the past twenty minutes. … Alright, Jesus. Okay, now gimme the stats, ref. You going to finally give in to my _correct_ defense or you going to just languish there in your seat, seeing only what you want to see?

JON:  
Well, having considered all of the plaintiff’s evidence, I, in my great and humble opinion, do so declare: Melanie, you are correct.

MELANIE:  
Oh, of _course,_ you would say that you ba- Wait. Did you say you thought I was right?

JON (much too smug for her case):  
Of course. I thought your defense was passionate, detailed, and incredibly reminiscent of my own uni dissertations regarding the same topic.

MELANIE:  
Oh, my god, you dickhead! You thought I was right the whole time, you were just trying to start an argument!

JON (smug, so smug):  
I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.

MELANIE:  
I can’t deal with this. I’m going to spit in your food.

JON:  
Oh, low blow.

MELANIE (laughing):  
I’ll do it!

JON laughs, shaking his head, but the two quiet down into comfortable silence. The train stops and the STRANGER gets off. No one else comes on, so it’s just the two of them in that car. MELANIE’S leg jiggles up and down furiously, her expression cloudy before it smooths out meaningfully. The eyebrows unfurrow, the shoulders slacken, her posture becomes purposefully languid.

MELANIE (off-topic, carefully calm):  
I’ve been thinking about your offer. Of quitting.

JON:  
Hm? Oh! Have you-

MELANIE:  
I haven’t decided yet, no.

JON:  
Ah.

MELANIE (continued):  
So, I’m gonna ask you something, and it’s important, and you have to answer truthfully. Okay?

JON:  
Um. O-Okay?

MELANIE:  
Right… Jon, are we friends?

JON (surprised):  
What?

MELANIE looks at him, her face unguarded and vulnerable. He is taken aback. He’s seen this before on people, seen hints of it on MELANIE herself, but never like this.

MELANIE:  
Are we friends?

JON:  
I- I’d like to think so? Acquaintances, at the very least, bonded via trauma.

MELANIE:  
Alright. … Um, what’s your favorite color?

JON (confused):  
Brown? Yours?

MELANIE:  
Orange.

JON:  
Melanie…

MELANIE (barreling on, no time for questions, she’s been making a lot of hard decisions these past few days):  
Look, I don’t know how to make friends, but I want us to be, Jon.

JON (catching on):  
Oh? I honestly thought I’d be, like, the last person you’d want to make friends with.

MELANIE:  
Um, no. That spot’s reserved for Elias, of course. 

JON:  
‘Course.

MELANIE:  
But, yeah. Um. I just- Look, I’m still, still angry about the whole bullet thing, y’know, we’ve talked about this a bit. And I’m not doing any work at the archives, even if I stick around. Because none of it’s healthy or helpful. We’re, how’d you put it, trauma bonded now? War buddies. I think to get through all this, we all need someone to, to be a friend. It’s impossible to survive without connections, and besides that, I don’t just want to survive.

JON:  
I know.

MELANIE:  
Of course you do, haha. Um. I have Georgie, and you have, uh, Daisy now, but um. Yeah. Could always do with another friend, you know?

JON (softly):  
Right.

MELANIE:  
I’m not saying we’re about to be all- buddy-buddy, bee-ef-efs braiding each other's hair at the slumber party type friends, but, I dunno. We’re allies, I guess, but you can’t just live on allies. You need people who actually like you, I suppose. Because after the war, the allyship ends, and you’re left all alone.

JON:  
I think I get what you mean.

MELANIE:  
I’m glad.

JON:  
So, yes. We can- Yes. Friends?

JON holds out a hand to shake, looking painfully awkward and still a little frazzled, dealing with her sudden declaration to play nice with him, all while making sure the to-go boxes don’t topple off his lap. Their stop is two to next. Despite the confusion, he looks painfully hopeful. JON is just so filled to the brim with endearing sincerity with absolutely everything he does.

MELANIE isn’t lying. You always need more friends. She sort of wishes they met in a better context, because there’s something about the way they both love people that, if combined or matched, could have been blinding. MELANIE grins and takes his hand.

MELANIE:  
Friends.

END OF ACT FIVE

*

[CLICK]

MELANIE (having made a decision, hyping herself up):  
They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,  
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. What's she  
That was not born of woman? Such a one  
Am I to fear, or none.

[MELANIE KNOCKS ON A DOOR. AFTER A FEW MOMENTS, IT CREAKS OPEN, AND THERE’S THE SOUND OF HER STEPPING INTO A ROOM]

JON (in a _oh-hi!_ sort of voice):  
What is thy name?

MELANIE:  
Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.

JON:  
No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter name  
Than any is in hell.

[LONG PAUSE]

MELANIE (determined):  
My name's Melanie.

[CLICK]

*

[ACT SIX]

SETTING: The institute no longer, that much we can tell. Not by the surroundings or the set-pieces, oh no. We can tell this is no longer the institute because the stage is pitch black. It is so dark that the actors wouldn’t be able to see one another and the audience can’t peek in. By this information, one can infer: MELANIE KING has quit. The king is dead. Long live the king.

AT RISE: Impossible to tell, but for a second, there is a flash as a green eye lights up on JON’S chest, directly over his heart, but it’s gone faster than it came.

GEORGIE:  
Melanie, you don't have to do this.

MELANIE:  
It's- it's okay. He's welcome… as a friend. But that's it.

JON (grief. he knows what she’s saying, he remembers their talk):  
Right.

MELANIE:  
But you're not after a friend, are you, Jon?

JON (desperately):  
I need an ally.

MELANIE (final):  
Then I can't help you.

END OF ACT SIX

NO NEED FOR A BLACKOUT, IT’S ALREADY IMPOSSIBLE TO SEE

END OF PLAY

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is either! sometimes i think about melanie a Whole Lot and you just have to ride that wave. there was unfortunately a Lot of jon. almost too much..
> 
> ive got a melanie king playlist (and several others) [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6OvQFzlDd89UaxxJjgro2b)  
> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.selkiecoded.tumblr.com)


End file.
